


I think I need Your Help

by thatdragonchic



Series: The Road to Recovery [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, But also, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Derek-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mentions of past abuse, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale, Stiles-centric, dazy, for a while, late at night feeling, like it does some pov switches, mutual comfort, they're coping together, this is supposed to have like a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 12:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12457494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatdragonchic/pseuds/thatdragonchic
Summary: Derek Hale is slowly making his way up in the Creative Corp and tonight he has an overnight meeting, Stiles stays up to make sure he's up and ready in time. But after a month of being away from home, his past life in beacon hills still looms over his head, and Derek's past trauma's grip him like a vice. They both find it's very hard to make it through the night-Part 3 of Road to Recovery, you could probably read it as a stand alone, but it'll make more sense if you read the first two.Comment please!





	I think I need Your Help

**Author's Note:**

> So this took forever to finish but here it is! Part 4 will probably be the thanksgiving scene I talk about somewhere in this fic

Derek had an overnight meeting, he'd went to bed the second he crossed the threshold of the door and Stiles patiently sat beside him, petting his hair as he muttered details of his day, who did what and what sort of managing escapades he'd been up to. He was still a low ranking manager, nothing fancy. It's what his boss Edimus called a starting position and he said only those worthy enough to move up would, Derek feared he might not be. Stiles had faith in Derek. He knew Derek was worthy of moving up in the corporate world, even if it was corporate creative, Derek’s mind, Stiles found, had endless dreams of creative thought and really was quite crafty with his hands. 

Derek, within an hour, was fast asleep, head laying gentle on Stiles’ lap and Stiles let him stay there, hand weaving in and out of his hair. He picked up a book to read, took his phone and set an alarm for 5 hours from now, so he could get up and make Derek coffee and something small to eat before his 1 AM meeting.  _ The Creative Mind never stops, if it works at 12 pm, it also works at 12 AM, and so, our meeting will be at 1 AM.  _ Stiles was there when Edimus decided this, he saw the superficial smile Derek got on his features, but if there was anything Derek hated, it was a change of schedule. He hated things being shifty, he hated having to be up at weird times, sleeping at odd hours and then some, resulting in naps, god did he hate naps. But Derek wanted to keep this job so badly, he proposed no opposition, neither did anybody else with a sane mind. Edimus was kind, but he was merciless in his effort to create the perfect creative corp. 

So Stiles waited, patiently, awaiting the alarm to go off so he could make sure his boyfriend woke up to a perfect little breakfast and coffee to go in a cup and everything he’d ever really wanted because Stiles likes to make him happy. Even if he was so broken that he hardly made it out of the house some days, and even though his hands shook and he smoked almost a whole pack of cigarettes a day sometimes, even though he knew his hurting hurt Derek too… he liked to think that sometimes he made Derek’s life better, just by doing small things, like making sure he gets up in time, and has coffee in his thermos already, and has arms to go home to and a lap to sleep in. Nobody does these things for Derek, nobody ever really holds him up, but Stiles likes to make sure, that he gives in return to what he gets. Because that’s how love is supposed to work. He remembers his mother standing at the kitchen counter trying to remember how his father liked his sandwiches, trying to get her hands to stop shaking just so she could make them. She was sick, but he took care of her, and the least she felt that she could do was make his lunch every night, until she couldn’t anymore.

And just like that his mind is no longer on the pages but on his future. Was he turning out like his mother, would Derek find him drowned in the bath the way he found his mother? Would his hands keep shaking until he choked on pills and sunk into a bath helpless and blue? He wondered if Derek would still love him if something was really wrong with him, if Derek would still tell him everything knowing Stiles would be in an early grave. Stiles wonders if he already would have been there if he didn’t call Derek that night, if he didn’t think Derek deserved a goodbye. His heart sinks, thinking of how lonely his love would be. 

He glances down at Derek’s sullen expression and furrowed brow and god does he wish he could relieve him of his nightmares, stop him from crying when the lights went out. He wipes at the absent tear treading Derek's cheek, tugs Derek’s hair to anchor him still to the real world. He’s tender, and gentle, even if his hands still shake, he tries to will the shaking to stop, just so he can caress Derek’s cheek with all the love he possesses. He wishes things were different, that they weren’t such broken, such hurt people. He wants to heal, he wants to do better. And he recalls his opportunity, earlier today the coffee shop he applied to just a couple weeks ago in another unsavory attempt to feel useful called him back. They wanted to hire him, and he thinks maybe this is his chance at normalcy, even as the paranoia eats away at him.  _ They’ll find you, they’ll find you, they’ll find you.  _

Stiles takes a deep breath and shakes the thought out of his head. He was safe here in this small town with Derek, he’d be safe no matter what, Derek would never let anybody hurt him, even if doubt laced his mind, his heart knew better. Derek startles with a sob and Stiles practically jumps out of his skin, moving to pull his lover into a hug. 

“Derek it’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay… Nobody can hurt you.” his heart shatters to pieces as Derek clings helplessly to him, sobs into his chest. “You’re  _ okay _ ,” he insists and Derek shakes his head, and Stiles knows that everything is not okay, not inside their own heads. They were broken men, with broken families, with nothing and nobody but each other. Everything  _ hurts _ , the wounds cut deep and even stitches couldn’t heal them at any moderate pace. But stiles knows Derek will be okay beside him. So he persists and eventually Derek calms down, sniffling against Stiles stomach as Stiles holds him, wiping a few of his own tears. “you're okay Derek… I promise.”

“I killed him… I killed Boyd.”

“She forced you to do it… it wasn't your choice. It wasn't  _ you _ .”

“I killed him.”

“He forgives you.”

“How could he?”

“He knows you loved him. He knows you still love him. Go back to sleep my love, you still have three hours… you need to sleep.”

Derek shakes his head and Stiles leans down to kiss him softly on the head. “it's okay… you're okay,” he whispers, kisses Derek on the head once more before quietly humming a polish lullaby. The soft thrum of Stiles voice lulling Derek back to sleep, falling into peace rather anguish, where love sings clearly for him. 

And time ticks slowly as it nears 12 AM, stiles notes he's hungry and hasnt eaten…. well he cant clearly remember when the last time he'd eaten was. But its near 11.30 and he thinks he's good to get up so by 12 there's food and hot coffee prepared. 

Stiles is careful as he slowly moves Derek to lay on the bed, shushing him as he creeps from the bed. The chill of November sinks in his blood as the warmth of his bed escapes him, the floors piercing his feet with Jack Frost's curse on the world, and stiles winces, reaching for the sock drawer and grabbing a pair. Once he's warm in socks, he takes one of derek's sweatshirts and pads down from the tiny upstairs to the kitchen, taking the dinner he left in the oven out on the counter. He'd made biscuits and potatoes and a dense polish stew which waited on the stove. He thinks it's too heavy for a midnight meal, so heats up the biscuits and gets out butter. He puts the pot in the fridge, walks to the coffee pot, cleans it out from the coffee he’d made a few hours ago and sets a fresh pot. 

He lights a cigarette, lets it doddle between his lips for a moment before taking it between his fingers and letting it hang there as he decides what to make beside the biscuits for Derek. He glances outside to see a family of deer trailing the yard and smiles at the sight of them, fawning about slowly. He wonders what it must be like, to be so free, so unbound to the world and he thinks for a moment that maybe they feel the same about him, that he could do whatever he wants while they’re tied to nature, and he thinks existence is sad. Because everything that lives is somehow bound to suffering for eternity and what a shit way to think that must be, but how absolutely true it and there’s no redeeming him or the deers. They’re stuck.

It’s been almost over a month since he left, and in a week or two he’ll have to head to Ohio to see his father's shit family, and he’ll have to face his father. They’ll have to pretend like they live together, and sure they talk, but nobody knows, Noah’s family would never understand, they’d exile Stiles the second they knew he liked men too, and that in fact, was with one. Stiles was already the bane of existence in their eyes, it lays heavy on him the absolute exhaustion he’ll go through being there for a weekend, but he diverts his thoughts, sucking on the cigarette and deciding eggs will have to do because he doesn’t want to make pancakes and they still haven’t bought that god forsaken waffle iron they keep talking about. 

He considers he’ll have to give up smoking that whole weekend, maybe before because God know’s his crazy grandmother would throw a fit, she’d say he’s intoxicated with the devil, even as his aunt gets away with drinking all night and eyeing him like he’s something to  _ have  _ the way she always did. (And let’s just say he’s happy he’s long repressed memories of this woman older than his father spending time at his house because it was never good.) He once again drops the thoughts that riddle him with worry and fear in turn for turning on the radio, even then he feels like all things bad are his fault. 

Stiles makes the eggs and he heats the biscuits and pours the coffee and sets the table, he opens the door and let’s the chill of the wind wash over him for a second, it’s colder because of the lake being so near to them, and he’s not complaining really, the dark night is pretty as it rests above them. He glances at the clock to see it’s only 11.50 and decides to go to the bathroom. He shuts and locks the door, bolts every lock tight in fear, he isn’t satisfied the first time so he does it again, he curses internally that his hands are shaking as he does so. The dead have too much power over him, otherwise he thinks he wouldn’t be shaking with so much anxiety. 

He walks into the bathroom, he goes, he stops at the sink, washing his hands and he almost feels like he can see the blood rushing from his fingertips. He thinks that he can never be free of it, never be free of what he did and he’ll never know what happened to Donovan, where his body went, he has a strict idea though. And he washes longer than he thinks, until blood is rushing through the skin without him even realizing and he startles a great deal when he feels a hand on his hip, and the water shut off. He’s ready to scream, he’s ready to flee, his instinct to run is surpressed as he’s pulled into strong arms he soon recognizes to be Derek’s and he sobs helpless, his hands raw from the soap and water, soft with wrinkles, and stained with blood. Derek kisses his head, slowly draws out the pain until he’s reduced to a bundle of hiccuping sniffles.

“You’re okay too…. I’ve got you, nothing can hurt you. It’s  _ not your fault _ .” Derek knows he’s been up too late, Derek knows the night wears on his head like a hat, saying tisk this and tisk that. Derek could never fully understand what Stiles sees, or what happened, or how tight his chest constricts, the dazes he falls into, but he understands pain, he understands having to kill to survive, and he… he knows that it gets better, that all things dissolve but life for him has always been different than life for Stiles because by nature, Stiles was lawful, Stiles was good, and by nature he was animalistic, he was kill or be killed. 

“Nothing can get to you,” he whispers, and he wonders if maybe Stiles is sick because he acts a lot like ‘sick’ sometimes and less like normal, but Derek can’t seem to piece the right signs together to fit the puzzle he’s trying to piece, maybe because he’s putting the wrong pieces in the wrong puzzle. Derek hugs him, Stiles is okay, Stiles is here with him, and his sweet smell is overrun with anxiety but its still his love, he’s still there.

It’s 12.15 when they make it to the table, the kitchen feels dimly lit even with all the lights on, Stiles rests his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Get home safe…” he whispers.

“Get some sleep,” Derek says, and Stiles follows Derek back to the room, mug still in his hand. He puts on a nice shirt with dress pants, Stiles watches from the bed. Derek kisses his head. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Derek brushes Stiles hair back, bites his lip. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah I’ll be fine.”

Derek nods, and he makes sure Stiles is comfortable and resting before he goes. He takes out his phone:  _ txt to Isaac - I think I need your help and I’m asking not as just your alpha but as a friend, if anything a brother, too.  _

 


End file.
